The Two Lives of Lydia Bird - Josie Silver Page 0,27
Perhaps he’s doing that thing I do, imagining they’re somewhere else right now. At the pub maybe, or about to watch the game, feet up on the coffee table in our living room.
‘Saturday again already,’ Jonah says. ‘Stressful week at work. Ofsted are in, staff shortages, the usual crap. I had to take a PE lesson last week and we all know how shit I am at sport. You’d have pissed yourself laughing.’
Freddie and Jonah were at opposing ends of the sporting spectrum; if there was a chance of winning something, Freddie was all over it with his arms outstretched for the trophy. Jonah, on the other hand, doesn’t mind a kick-about, but he doesn’t have that competitive fire in his belly. He’s content to be an armchair sportsman, finding his passion in music and books. They were unalike in lots of ways. Freddie was a doer, Jonah more of a dreamer, a stargazer. For his fifteenth birthday a group of us camped out in Freddie’s back garden to try to catch a glimpse of a passing comet, or perhaps it was an asteroid shower. Either way, Freddie snored through the entire thing while Jonah and I sat huddled under blankets with our eyes glued to the heavens in the hope of an astral show.
‘Could have used a beer with my old mucker last night,’ Jonah says. ‘Nothing drastic, just kids winding me up and classroom politics pissing me off. Not to mention Harold giving me a dressing down for not wearing a tie in assembly yesterday.’ He laughs, his eyes still closed. ‘Can you believe it? Ten years since we left that place and old Harold’s still on my back.’ He pauses as if listening to Freddie’s reply. ‘Oh, and I won at darts on Wednesday. Duffy was bloody furious. Lost his bet. Had to buy a round, and you know how tight he is. Everyone ordered a whisky chaser just to wind him up.’
I can’t help but smile a little at this. Listening to Jonah’s recollection of antics in The Prince is strange but kind of warming; I know I would have heard these same stories first-hand from Freddie had he been here still.
Jonah falls silent, absently picking at the frayed knee of his faded grey jeans, frowning, searching for more words, I expect. Then he opens his eyes and sighs, leaning forward to lay his hand flat over Freddie’s name on the cold granite for a few quiet seconds.
‘Till next week, mate.’
It’s as close as he can get to laying his hand on Freddie’s shoulder. I know, because there have been times when I’ve wrapped my arms around the sharp-edged damn thing and laid my cheek against the golden etched words. Not too many times though. We’re Brits after all; there’s a certain cemetery etiquette to be observed and it doesn’t include having a full-on breakdown every time you rock up.
Much as Jonah did earlier, I clear my throat. He looks my way and double blinks, surprised. ‘Lydia,’ he says, and then he frowns. ‘How long have you been there?’
I hate the idea of anyone overhearing me talk to Freddie, so I lie. ‘Just a second or two.’ I pause. ‘I can come back in a while, if you need more time?’
He gets to his feet, brushing grass cuttings off his jeans. ‘No, it’s okay. I’m done here.’
I haven’t seen or spoken to Jonah since that afternoon in the pub three weeks ago, and I know I need to make things right. Jonah was Freddie’s right-hand man, but in actual fact he was my friend before Freddie even shot into my orbit. His quiet sarcasm aligned with mine when we were forced to partner up on a chemistry project at twelve years old; I think the teacher held vain hopes that some of Jonah’s logic might rub off on me. It didn’t. We quickly gave up any hope of me ever learning the periodic table, but we fell into the habit of spending our lunchtimes together with our backs against the old oak tree trunk to watch the school comings and goings, the flash-in-the-pan romances, the occasional overspill of teen temper amongst the older kids. Our friendship came at a time when I needed it, when most of the girls in the class had decided I wasn’t cool enough to hang out with them. Grateful, Mum would sometimes pack an extra mint biscuit for Jonah. He’d always try to refuse it out of politeness, but I knew